Nearly Midnight
by speckledgit
Summary: Hermione adores New Year's resolutions, Bill doesn't. A short little fic for Twin Exchange's Jan. Challenge. Prompt: Resolutions.


_New Year's resolutions: the planner's and perfectionist's love child. _

Bill Weasley mingled through the crowd at the burrow. His mother insisted that they throw a New Year's bash; seeing as it was the first New Year since the Second War ended. Not that he minded an excuse to drink and have a good time; he absolutely did. But, if he had to hear one more mention of New Year resolutions, he was going to lose it. They're very pointless, New Year resolutions. Not that making goals is pointless, but no one ever keeps them.

"I wonder if dad still keeps his stash of Ogden's in the kitchen cupboard," Bill wondered aloud to himself.

After bumbling his way from the living room to the kitchen, he glided to the cupboard. It was no great secret that Arthur Weasley kept at least one bottle hidden away behind some muggle treats in the Weasley cupboard.

However, Bill didn't find what he was looking forward too. Instead, the cupboard was already occupied.

"Hermione, I don't know if you noticed this, but you're in a cupboard," he's raspy voice echoed a bit in the space, which was barely big enough for the two of them. He looked down at her and noticed a stack of spare parchment as well.

Hermione looked up at his tall figure leaning on the door frame and replied promptly, "I needed to decide on a New Year's resolution. It's nearly midnight."

"Oh, and what? You thought the spices could give you some advice about suitable options?"

"Don't be ridiculous. This is the only quiet place in the house. See? A perfectly reasonable explanation," Hermione responded curtly.

"Reasonable? I don't think anyone who is sitting alone in a cupboard, writing furiously on parchment, waiting for midnight is qualified to judge their own sanity. What are you even writing?"

He slid down to the floor, his long legs bent.

Hermione let his attack on her mental health slide, "I'm organizing my thoughts. I need to plan for which resolutions I can best accomplish."

"You have got to be kidding me. You know a lot of people have told me that you're the brightest witch of your age. I think that they're full of ox shite. I've never heard something so ridiculous and what you've just told me," he mused, completely ignoring the death glare that the young witch was giving him.

"Well if you're the master of New Year's resolutions, what's yours?" She asked with superior look on her face.

"Didn't make one, I think they're ridiculous," he shrugged.

"Well, I think their important," she proudly stated.

He just ignored her and leaned forward to grab the whiskey that he had gone there for in the first place.

"Would you like some?" He asked, smiling at her discomfort.

"Let me think...no!" She looked at him as if he had just asked her to fail a class on purpose.

"Your loss," he winked at her and took a swig of the alcohol, "That's why your planning for a resolution is ridiculous, too much thinking not enough doing."

"I thought you said they were ridiculous," she shot back.

He glared at her, but didn't refute her point.

He reached over her to grab the pile of notes she had meticulously organized by level of difficulty.

"Those are mine," she shrieked.

"Not any more. I've decided that the cooking oils make for poor judges, so I'll just have a look at these…..Get thirteen NEWTS…Reprise Hogwarts: A HistorY….BE MORE ORGANIZED," he right out laughed.

"What? Those are perfectly acceptable things to aim for," she defended.

"Maybe if you want to be a librarian, but you're a lot better than this," he rolled his eyes.

"Well if you such an expert then YOU tell me what I should do," she huffed.

"Be more spontaneous! That should be plenty of a challenge, seeing as you won't be able to make lists to achieve it," he jabbed.

"Fine," she nearly shouted. He was wondering why it was so easy to convince her of that, but he got somewhat distracted when she ended up in his lap snogging him into next week.

Before he could fully comprehend what had happened, she hopped up off of him, "Ha, how's that for spontaneous? You know I kind of like this goal. You think you're so clever. Well, you should have left the judging to the cooking ingredients, because you are very poor at it. I think I'll dance with Ron next," she preached. Bill could've probably seen the soap box she was on if he hadn't been so shocked. She marched out of the kitchen.

He snatched up a blank bit of scroll and scrawled a few words down: Get rid of Ron; kiss Hermione more. He stuffed the note in his jacket pocket. He picked himself off of the cupboard floor, took one more drink of the firewhiskey, and stalked off to find Hermione. He didn't normally make resolutions, but it was nearly midnight after all.


End file.
